


Guns Don't Kill People

by fictionart



Series: Irondad Bingo [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Captivity, Gen, Human Experimentation, Hurt/Comfort, Iron Man 1, Kidnapped Peter Parker, Kidnapped Tony Stark, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Graphic Violence, Terrorism, mention of drugs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-01-05 20:04:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18373121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionart/pseuds/fictionart
Summary: AU where Peter was in the cave with Tony during the first Iron Man.Written for Irondad Bingo - AU: Canon Divergence





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to continue this story in a series, stay tuned for more if your interested.

Tony woke up to a bright light in his eyes, surrounded by darkness. He had heard about the light at the end of the tunnel just before you died, but he somehow felt that if he was dead, or even dying, that he shouldn't be in this much pain. Even if the last thing he remembered was his own missile blowing up in his face.

He turned his head, and the room he was in came into focus. Or maybe “room” was too kind of a term. The walls were rough, uneven, wet rock, and the furniture that made up the area was thrown together, rickety and dirty. In the center of the room was a steel beam that Tony hoped to God wasn't holding up the place. At the other end of the room there was a sketchy looking bunk bed, with a boy - maybe in his then years - laying lopsidedly on the top bunk, staring lazily at the ceiling, as though he we're on drugs.

Turning his attention away from the room, Tony felt around his face, feeling a tube coming out from his right nostril. In a moment that was probably not his best moment of judgment, Tony pulled on the tube, which caused a burning sensation in his nose, and triggered his gag reflex as the tube brushed past the back of his throat. He stopped, but that felt even worse. Tony continued to pull out what he now realized was a feeding tube until it was completely out - gagging the entire time.

He threw the offensive tube across the room, and sat up in his cot, trying to move away to walk around the room, get a better sense of his surroundings, but he was stopped by a tugging sensation in his chest, which sparked extreme, crippling pain that Tony hadn't been fully aware of. Tony looked down at the stained bandages underneath his shirt. From underneath those bandages there were cables that led to a car battery at the side of the cot he was once lying on. He wrapped his hand around the cords, ready to tug.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you.” The boy on the bunk said tiredly, as though he were half asleep. Tony looked up and saw that the boy was staring at him, his pupils dilated. He looked as though he wasn't truly there.

He turned his attention back to his bandaged chest. The pain underneath them had become unbearable. He tore away the bandages to reveal a monstrosity - a hunk of metal in his chest, surrounded by red, irritated skin.

Tony fainted.

 

The next time Tony woke up, the kid was cooking something over a fire, which was shabbily built near the center of the room. The kid seemed less delirious than he had been earlier, but there were moments when his hands paused, or he would catch himself leaning too far to one side.

He sat up, and the tugging at his chest reminded of the presence of the metallic monstrosity in his chest.

Tony looked up at the kid. “What did you do to me?”

The kid met his eyes, and Tony could see his pupils were still slightly smaller than normal, especially for someone sitting in a dark, cave like room.

“I didn't do anything to you,” he had an American accent, which surprised Tony, and his words were slurred. “I'm not a doctor. But I did give them the idea. It's an electromagnet. You were hit with a lot of shrapnel, and it was going to pierce your heart. They got out as much as they could, and whatever was left in there is being stopped by that magnet.”

“I'm sorry, are you high right now?” Tony asked brashly.

The kid went cross-eyed for a moment, and leaned a little too far to the left, catching himself before he could actually fall over. He looked sheepishly back up at Tony. “It's not my choice.”

Before Tony could ask what he meant by that, there was a pounding at the door, strains of Arabic filtering through.

The kid stumbled to his feet, placing his hands behind his head, “Get up.”

Tony remained seated, eyes trained on the door.

“What are you, crazy? Get up! Do as I do!”

Tony stood up, placing his hands behind his head, mimicking the boy, just as the armed terrorists barged through the door.

There were seven or eight men, each armed with what Tony recognized as Stark Industries issued weapons. Then, another man walked through. Clearly the leader.

He walked up to the kid first, speaking in Arabic. Tony couldn't understand a word he was saying, but he spoke with a praising tone of voice, but in a somewhat condescending tone.

After a while, the man turned to Tony, continuing to speak in Arabic.

“He says welcome, Tony Stark, the greatest mass murderer in the history of America.” The kid translated, which stunned Tony for a moment. “He is honored.”

The terrorist leader cut him off continuing to speak in his foreign tongue.

“He says he wants you to build him a missile - the Jericho missile, which you were demonstrating earlier.” 

The man pulled out a black and white printed picture of the Jericho.

“That one,” the kid supplied, somewhat needlessly.

Tony looked up at the man, eying the armed men behind him.

“I refuse”

The torture that followed would haunt Tony for the rest of his life.

 

The next day, Tony was being led outside. It was blindingly bright, but when his eyes focused, he saw several of his weapons, as well as assorted parts and pieces from what Tony guessed were cars and explosives.

The kid was there. He was being restrained my a much larger man, his arms pinned behind his back. He had guns trained at his head at all times. The poor kid seemed to be taking this all in stride, as though he was used to it.

The leader was speaking again, and Tony looked to the kid for a translation, feeling bad about the position they were in.

“He says, what do you think?”

Tony grimaced. “I think he has a lot of my weapons.”

The leader spoke again. The kid translated. “As you can see, they have everything you need to build the Jericho. You will write a list of materials, and get to work right away. When you're done they will set you free.”

Tony glanced around at the armed men around him. Some of them stood on top of the rocky peaks. One of them stood out among the rest, and Tony suspected he was the leader of all of them, even the guy he was talking to right now.

He held his hand out and shook it with his captor. 

“No he won't.” Tony said, mostly to the kid.

“No. He won't.” The kid agreed.

 

That night, Tony was laying on the bottom of the rickety bunk bed. He thanked his lucky stars that the kid appeared to weigh no more than a feather - any heavier may have caused the whole thing to capsize.

The kid was more alert now than Tony had ever seen him. He was sitting upright on the bunk. And Tony could tell by his positioning that he was staring at the door.

“You got a name, kid?”

“Peter,” he said softly, his voice wavering, but it wasn't slurred.

Tony hummed in acknowledgement. “I'd introduce myself, but -”

“I know who you are.”

Tony nodded silently.

“It's scary isn't it?” Peter said. “ How many weapons they have. How many parts.”

“Yeah,” Tony said softly, “they weren't supposed to be the ones who had them.”

“Have you ever heard the saying, 'guns don't kill people, people do’?”

“Yeah, what's your point, kid?”

“You make the guns,” Peter explained, “and once they're out there, you can give them to the people you want to have them, you can guard them, but somehow, some way, they're going to end up in the hands of the people you don't want to have them. And the guns don't know any better. They won't just stop working. They just do as they're told.” He took a breath. 

“I don't quite understand what you're trying to tell me,” Tony said passively.

“That's okay. Maybe someday you will.”

There was pounding at the door.

“What's going on?” Tony demanded. Standing up and putting his hands behind his head. “They said they wouldn't come until tomorrow.”

“They're not coming for you,” the kid assured him, climbing off the top bunk.

The armed men crowded into the room, and grabbed Peter by his arms, pinning them behind his back, tying them too tightly with thick, dirty rope. Those who weren't busy tying the poor kid up had their guns aimed at his head.

“Woah, woah!” Tony exclaimed, “What's your deal, what are you doing to him?!”

A few of the gunman swiveled toward him when he spoke, turning their guns on him 

“It's fine Mr. Stark,” Peter assured him. “They have you here to build weapons. I'm here for the same reason.”

Tony had no idea what that meant, but just as soon as the had entered, the terrorists left the cave, locking the door behind them. Tony was alone.

 

Tony had managed at get a couple of hours of sleep between his tossing and turning, the pain in his chest, and his worry about a teen-aged stranger keeping him awake.

When the sun had finally started to shine through the small, thin window near the ceiling, the door finally opened again. Tony stood up, placing his hands behind his head like the kid taught him, and once again armed men came into their room, Peter hanging limply from where they held him by his arms. They dumped him onto the ground, and promptly left.

The poor kid was covered with his own blood, which oozed sluggishly from small cuts littering his body. The back of his right hand was bruised, and displayed a puncture wound above his vein. His arms were covered in puncture wounds, really.

His breathing was ragged, and Tony knew that being thrown into his stomach wasn't doing him any favors. He slowly moved toward the kid, and gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you with me, Peter?” He asked gently.

The kid groaned, the sound trailing off into a whimper.

“I'm gonna move you to the bed, okay? It's probably not a good idea for you to stay on the floor like this.

“M'fine,” Peter insisted, his words slurred so severely it took Tony a money to realize he was speaking.

“No, you really aren't.”

“M'Okay...really...I've...done this....'fore” the kid turned his head weakly to one side, his eyelids only half open.

“C'mon kid,” Tony insisted, hoisting him from underneath his armpits. “Up you go.”

Peter whimpered and whined as Tony staggered over to the bed. It wasn't hard to carry him, the kid was pretty light, but Tony had an awkward hold on him due to his own gaping injury in his chest, and he had to stop every so often to go back and shift his car battery so that he wouldn't get disconnected.

Once the kid was on the bed, Tony could tell he was pretty out of it, not to mention exhausted.

“Why are they doing this to you, kid?” Tony tried to ask, “What do they want from you.”

Peter's reply was too slurred for Tony to discern. He lifted one of the kids eyelids and saw that his pupils were blown.

“They're keeping you on pretty heavy drugs, aren't they?” Tony removed his hand from the boys face, resolving to wait to ask him in the morning.

 

“From what I can tell they're trying to create some kind of super soldier serum,” Peter told him the next time Tony asked. He was sitting up in the bunk, since Tony wanted him to rest, even though Peter insisted this wasn't the first time this had happened. “They have some kind of notes from way back in the 40s or something -”

“Steve Rogers,” Tony realized. “Captain America.”

“Well, it didn't work at first,” the kid said. “They injected me with something, but it didn't do much - nothing bad, but nothing good either, at least for them. I kept feeling dizzy, and passing out. Then they got these new notes, a whole lot more modern. From what I can tell, they're coming from some company in America. They only started recently.

“They injected me with this new serum. It was crazy. Right after they injected it, it was like my senses we're going haywire. It was so bright, and loud, and everything I felt was so intense and uncomfortable. They thought it was a fluke at first, but when I woke up the next morning it was like everything evened out. It was still intense, but I'd adjusted. And I was stronger. Way stronger. I fought back, and I almost escaped. Now they keep me on the drugs to make sure I don't try anything. I also think my metabolism increased, because they started giving me less food, to keep my strength low.”

Tony listened to the kid as he cooked they're extremely low rations over the open fire. “so they want me to build them weapons, and they want you to become their weapon.”

“Sort of,” Peter shrugged, “I get the feeling I'm just their guinea pig. They're just using me to perfect their formula, before they give it to their more willing soldiers.”

“How did they get ahold of you?”

“I was visiting with my parents on a business trip. They're geneticists, and they were here doing research,” Peter's eyes glazed over, “They shot at the car, broke the windows. My father was killed in the driver's seat, and my mother was shot a moment later. I kept waiting. Waiting to die. When they broke into the car I thought they were going to kill me. But instead they just knocked me out and I woke back up here.”

Peter looked up at him with apologetic eyes. “They had your weapons, Mr. Stark.”

Tony focused on the kids dirty, worn down sneakers, sitting beside the bunk, not willing to meet the kids eyes. “I'm sorry.”

“It wasn't your fault.”

“I made the weapons,” Tony insisted.

“It's not like that,” Peter countered.

Tony decided to change the subject. “And what are they gonna do to you when they're done?”

Peter looked him in the eye. “Kill me, I would think.”

Tony met his gaze. “I won't let that happen.”

“Why?” The kid asked. “You hardly know me. Besides, you've got your own life at stake.”

“I don't have to know you,” Tony said. “You're a kid. You have so much more to live for than just this. You deserve a chance to live.”

“Mr. Stark, with all due respect, I don't have any reason to stay alive, my parents are dead. There's nothing left for me. Do you even have a plan to get out of here?”

Tony looked up, eyeballing one of the camera he had noticed we're stationed around the room.

“We'll see.”

 

Later that day, the cave was crowded with people carrying things inside. Tony was barking orders, Peter standing close by translating as fast as he could.

Soon the workspace was set up to. Tony's liking, well lit and equipped with everything he needed. There once open and large room was suddenly full of Stark Industries weapons and mechanics.

Once everyone had filed out of the cave, Tony began to work, sketching out blueprints for his big project - as well as a smaller one, one he would need to start working on as soon as possible. Glancing over, he caught Peter staring at the Stark Industries logo on one of the missiles. He looked like he wasn't really there.

“Kid,” Tony called, causing Peter to jump, snapping out of his reverie “Come make yourself useful.”

Peter cautiously came over toward him. Tony picked up a long tube - a missile. The kid stopped walking.

“Relax, they took out the explosives before they gave them to me. They're crazy, but not stupid. Now watch.”

Tony very meticulously and carefully broke apart the missile extracting what he needed. Until finally he pulled out a small piece metal with his tweezers.

“Okay, we don't need this,” Tony threw scrap pieces over his shoulder. 

“What's that?” The kid asked.

“Palladium,” Tony said. “About .15 grams of it. I need at least 1.6, so why don't you start breaking down the other eleven.”

The kid was actually a very good helper. When he wasn't drugged up to his eyeballs he had remarkably steady hands, and he clearly knew how to break stuff apart the right way.

“I used to do this all the time, back at home,” Peter had explained. “I would get old broken computers from the thrift store, break them down and rewire them. I made some pretty cool stuff, or at least I liked to think so.”

Tony had waited for moment when Peter was more aware to have him heat up the palladium in the crucible and pour it into the sand mold Tony had constructed. Tony couldn't do it himself, since he had to hold onto his car battery.

“Careful,” he warned. “We only got one shot at this.” 

“If you stop psyching me out,” the kid countered, “I might be more steady.”

Despite their banter, Peter had successfully poured it into the mold, and the next morning Tony pulled out a freshly made ring of palladium. By that point the poor kid had returned from one of his torture sessions and was the equivalent of a vegetable lying on their bunk.

Tony got to work, installing all the pieces, soldering and wiring, until his finished product whirred to life, glowing a faint blue in front of him.

Peter materialized over his shoulder, and it was at that point Tony noticed how much time had gone by.

“What's that?” The kid spoke in an awed whisper.

“It's a miniature ARC reactor. I've got a bigger one at home, powering my workshop.” Tony explained. “This one will keep the shrapnel out of my heart.”

“What does it generate?”

“If my math is correct - and it always is - about three gigajoules per second. Enough to power my heart for 50 lifetimes.” Tony turned and made eye contact with Peter. “Or something big for 15 minutes.”

The kid looked at him with wary eyes. “What are you planning?”

Tony stood up, leading the kid over to his blueprints, flattening them out to show him his other project - his much bigger project.

“Woah,” the kid breathed.

 

Tony wasn't sure how much time had passed before he was almost completely done with his project. He had about a week of work left to do, when once again there was a pounding on the door.

He and the kid exchanged nervous glances. It wasn't anywhere near time for Peter to be taken away again. They stood, hands behind their heads.

Man flooded the room, all armed with guns - no surprise. What was different this time was that the old leader, the one Tony had grown used to seeing, wasn’t there. Instead, another man took charge, a man Tony remembered from his one trip to the outside world since being imprisoned here. 

“Relax,” The man said.

Tony and Peter tentatively let their hands fall to their sides. The man circled them, and began examining Tony’s blueprints. Tony’s heart leapt in fear. He doubted than man would be able to piece together what he was making, but still, it set him on edge.

“The bow and arrow was once the pinnacle of weapons technology. It allowed the great Genghis Khan to rule from the Pacific to the Ukraine,” The man gave up trying to make sense of the blueprints. “Today, whoever has the latest Stark weapons rules these lands. Soon it will be my turn...”

The man turned to Peter, and started having a conversation with him, no longer talking in English, so Tony couldn’t follow along. Suddenly, Peter was forced to his knees, and his head was shoved down onto an anvil. Tony’s heart raced, unsure what to do. He didn’t want to let the kid get hurt, but he knew trying to help him might make things worse. The man picked up a set of Tony’s tongs, using them to remove a hot coal from the fire, and started maneuvering it towards the kids head, still shouting at Peter in a foreign tongue.

“What do you want, a delivery date?” Tony asked stepping forward to try and help the kid against his better judgment. The armed men quickly trained their guns on him, shouting words of warning, on Tony stopped, raising his hands in surrender. He looked around, trying to think of something that might help them. He looked to the man who was still holding the hot coal with his tongs, too close to the kid’s face for comfort.

“I need him,” Tony insisted. “He’s a good assistant.”

The air was still and tense. The room became so silent that Tony could hear Peter trying to take deep, calming breaths. Finally the man dropped the burning coal, signaling to his men to let Peter go.

“You have until tomorrow,” He warned, “to build my missile.”

Then they left.

 

Thankfully, the kid wasn’t dragged away for experiments again, which let them work more efficiently on the suit throughout the night. What would have taken a week was now being done in one night.

“What did they want?” Tony asked while hammering at the metal chest plate to give it shape.

“They’re onto you,” Peter warned, working on the wires and electrical work. “They kept asking what you were really building. I told them that you were working very hard on the Jericho, but it was very complex.”

“We need to get this done before sunrise,” Tony decided. “Otherwise they’ll come too soon and we won’t have a chance.” 

By the time the light behind their small window had begun to turn orange like the morning, Peter was helping Tony into his suit, and they waited for the data from a small, old computer to load so that they could power it up.

“Say it again,” Peter prompted.

“41 steps straight ahead, 16 steps from the door, fork right, 33 steps, turn right,” Tony rattled off.

Peter took a shaky breath and nodded.

“Hey,” Tony said, trying to sound as calm as possible, “It’s gonna be fine.”

Peter nodded again. “Say it again.”

Tony knew it at this point, but he repeated it so that Peter could feel better.

“Almost at 100%,” Peter reported.

“Okay, remember than plan, kid. Stick to the plan. Remember your checkpoints, and make sure everything is clear before you follow me, okay?” Tony looked Peter dead in the eye, and the kid gave him another shaky nod. “It’ll be fine, It’ll -”

There was banging at the door. Peter gave a shaky gasp looking fearfully at the door. There was shouting.

“Say something to them,” Tony prompted.

“They’re speaking Hungarian,” Peter said. “I don’t know how to speak Hungarian.”

“Speak Hungarian,” Tony pressed, “Just say something in Hungarian.”

The kid’s eyes were wide with terror, and he loudly called out a couple of wavering words. It didn’t appear to work however, because the door was opened. 

There was a loud ban, and both Peter and Tony felt the wave of the explosion that had been a trap that they had set on the door. It was supposed to be how they got out of here, but it was too soon.

“Okay, times up kid, we gotta go.” Tony moved to disconnect his suit.

“No!” Peter shouted, “You need more time -”

“Kid, we don’t got time, we need to make our move, now!”

“You stay here and wait for it to power up,” Peter said. “I can buy you a couple of minutes.”

Then, the kid ran to one of the bodies of the men who had been at the door, picking up one of their guns, then he ran out the door.

“Kid!” Tony yelled. “Kid! Stick to the plan! Stop!”

After several agonizing minutes of waiting, the loading bar on the computer reached 100%. The lights flickered, before the eventually powered off. Tony disconnected himself from the cables, and maneuvered the suit out of the cave, through the hole where the door had once stood.

 

Tony found the kid near the mouth of the cave, laying over a pile of sandbags, bleeding and panting. Tony had successfully picked off everyone inside the cave, and seeing that it was safe, he knelt by the kid and raised the helmet. 

“Kid, c’mon, we have a plan and we’re gonna stick to it.”

The poor kid moaned in pain, whimpering when Tony rolled him over. He was bleeding profusely from his stomach. Tony could tell he had been shot. Peter let out agonized shot as Tony pulled one of the kid’s hands over the wound.

“Keep pressure on that, okay? I’m gonna deal with those guys out there, then I’m gonna come back, and we’re gonna get out of here okay?”

Peter whimpered. “- hurts, it hurts. Mr. Stark. Please. I don’t wanna die.”

“Shh,” Tony soothed. “You’ll be fine. Just put pressure on that wound and I’ll be back in a few minutes to get you, okay? You’re gonna be fine.”

Peter nodded, pressing down on the wound, he yelled from the pain.

“Shh,” Tony soothed. “I’ll be right back, okay kid?”

He closed the mask and made his way outside.

 

Just as Tony had killed all of his captors, the suit lost power. He shed the heavy metal and took of the protective extra layers he had worn underneath of it so he wouldn’t get dehydrated too quickly.

He raced back to the kid, much more mobile now that he didn’t have the suit on. Remarkably, Peter had managed to sit up, and the wound underneath his hand was somewhat healed.

“The experiments,” Peter explained. “They didn’t drug me last night, so I’m stronger now, and I can heal quicker.”

“Yeah, but it still isn’t good that there’s still a bullet in there,” Tony said. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

 

When Rhodey found them with the air force helicopters while they braved the desert, Tony had never been more relieved.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wasn't exactly sure why he was so defensive about this. He just felt embarrassed, ashamed, almost dirty. Like everything about him now, after what those... those... monsters did to him. He had always felt that way but his emotions were muted under the influence of the drugs they kept him on. Besides, in the cave no one was there to judge him, until Mr. Stark was brought in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Chapter 2. There are probably a lot of medical and legal inaccuracies in here, so sorry in advance.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who encouraged me to continue this. Peter is a little younger than he is in the movies because if I get as far as I want to with this concept... the age will make sense. Basically, while as for right now I will be happy if I can cover all of the first Iron Man movie, I hope to cover all of the MCU up to endgame, the only problem is that I don't want Peter to be older than he is in the movies when I get to that point... so the timeline is very condensed. You'll see (hopefully).
> 
> Anyway, there were a lot of things that I wanted to put in the notes that I didn't remember when writing this, so enjoy!

_...”C’mon kid, just a few more steps”..._

_...”I know, I know it’s too hot”..._

_...”Shhh... I know it hurts, I know”..._

_...”You’re gonna be alright, Peter, It’ll be okay”..._

 

Peter’s eyes snapped open to the blinding lights of a white room. He felt his face scrunch underneath a plastic mask placed over his nose and mouth, blowing soothingly cold air across his face. His eyes had squeezed shut in an effort to shield him from the harmful light above his eyes. 

“Can we have the lights dimmed, please?” a feminine voice called out.

The orange glow behind his eyelids dimmed, and Peter braved blinking a little, to let his eyes adjust to the room. It was blurry at first, and while the darkness soothed his eyes, it made it hard to see the room. Then, slowly, everything came into focus, and Peter eyes settled on the woman who was sitting at his bedside.

She was clearly a doctor of some form. She wore a long white lab coat over a pale pink scrubs, and a stethoscope around her neck. Her skin was a few shades darker than his, and she had long, medium brown, wavy hair. Peter remembered all those medical dramas his mom watched before their trip to Afghanistan; this lady would have fit right into the cast.

“Hello, Peter,” The woman said. “My name is Dr. Sullivan.”

“Hi,” He responded meekly, his voice weak from lack of use and muffled by the oxygen mask over his mouth.

Dr. Sullivan gave him a small smile. “It’s okay to take that off, if you want. Just don’t leave it off for too long. You should be fine, but I’m not quite willing to risk anything yet.”

The coordination in Peter’s arms was lacking extremely, but eventually his left arm found the mask on his face and pulled it away as gently as possible.

“Where am I?” His voice was just barely above a whisper.

“You’re at Thousand Oaks Surgical Hospital, in Malibu California,” Dr. Sullivan explained. “You and Mr. Stark were found two day ago in the middle of a desert in Afghanistan. You suffered a heat stroke shortly before you were found by the United States Air Force. Not to mention an infection due to your various wounds, including the bullet that was still lodged in your stomach. The surrounding skin healed remarkably fast, most likely due to your altered DNA.”

Peter’s heart rate picked up in fear. His monitor beeped loudly, and blood pulsed in his ears. She knew? _She knew_.

Dr. Sullivan raised her hands in surrender. “It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone. I can’t really. Patient privacy, as well as the fact that Tony Stark himself had me and my entire team sign a non-disclosure agreement. We only know because we need to know, Peter.”

“Why do you need to know?” Peter insisted, his voice cracking. He wasn't exactly sure why he was so defensive about this. He just felt embarrassed, ashamed, almost dirty. Like everything about him now, after what those... those... _monsters_ did to him. He had always felt that way but his emotions were muted under the influence of the drugs they kept him on. Besides, in the cave no one was there to judge him, until Mr. Stark was brought in.

“We need to know so that we know how to take care of you, Peter. You’re enhanced, we need to know that so that we don’t try to treat you like a normal person, because it wouldn’t work the same way with you -”

“I am a normal person!” Peter was almost at the brink of screaming, and, god, his voice sounded _awful_. 

“I know that, Peter,” Dr. Sullivan tried to calm him. “But biologically, you are different, and I don’t want to accidentally hurt you because of that, that’s why we need to know -”

“You don’t! There’s nothing wrong with me! I’m normal! So what if my DNA is different now! I’m still normal! I’m still normal!” 

Peter didn’t acknowledge much beyond the screaming. He didn’t notice the doctors filtering into the room as his heart monitors went crazy. He didn’t notice them shouting orders, didn’t even notice the needle filled with an enhanced sedative. All he knew was lab coats. Lab coats meant pain, and _god_ he never wanted pain again. Haven't they done enough? They already changed him forever. Why were the lab coats back to hurt him? Peter was supposed to be safe! He was supposed to be safe! He was supposed to be -

 

_...white lab coats..._

_...a man with graying hair leans over him..._

_...he’s being restrained, he can’t move, the drugs altering his sense of reality..._

_...“- the world is not ready for him-”..._

_...“Sleep tight, my little pest”..._

 

Peter woke up later that day. The sky was dark outside his window, and his eyes took less time to adjust to his surroundings, the voices of his nightmare echoed in his head. 

The oxygen mask was over his nose again, and Peter reached up to pull it down, not realizing he had now caught the attention of Mr. Stark, who was sitting where Dr. Sullivan was earlier that day.

“Hey kid,” He said as a means of greeting.

“Hey,” Peter said plainly.

“Heard you had a little freak out earlier.”

Peter blinked. “I did?”

“Dr. Sullivan said it was a panic attack. You were breathing too fast, and you kept yelling at the staff until you got so worked up they had to sedate you.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter apologized. He remembered now, and he was recalled the look on every panicked doctors face while Peter did nothing but yell and scream. Deep guilt stirred inside his chest.

“Don’t apologize,” Tony said. “She said it was expected, considering everything you’ve gone through in the recent past. I still don’t understand what triggered it though-”

Peter opened his mouth, whether it was to tell Tony what had triggered him, or to refute that he had been triggered at all, Peter himself would never know, because Tony cut him off. “Nevermind. I’m not willing to put you through that again if you got so worked up about it the last time.”

They sat in awkward silence for a moment.

“I held a press conference today,” Tony announced.

“What’s a press conference?” Peter asked innocently.

“It’s a big, boring meeting where I can tell reporters what I want them to hear. Helps me control what information gets out to the public,” Tony gave him a strange look. “How is it that you can help me create a miniaturized ARC reactor, _and_ a mechanized suit of armor in a cave with nothing but scraps, when you’re - how old are you?”

“Thirteen”

“Really? God, I feel old. Anyway, how is it that you can do all that, but you don’t know what a press conference is?”

Peter shrugged. “I don’t think press conferences have a whole lot to do with mechanics, Mr. Stark.”

“True,” Tony shrugged. “I guess you and I were just raised in extremely different circumstances. What did you say you’re parents were? Geneticists?”

Peter’s smile, which has been slowly pushing his cheeks upward suddenly fell. He nodded mutely.

Mr. Stark winced. “Sorry, kid. Probably wasn’t a good idea to bring that up.”

They were silent for a while after that. Peter focused on the way the individual threads on his blanket were woven together.

“You’ll be living with me from now on,” Tony said softly. “I promise not to bring it up again if you don’t want me too, but we looked into your family, Pete, and you were right. You don’t have any surviving relatives. But I’m not going to let you slide into that broken government system of tossing poor kids around. Not after everything you and I have gone through, especially after...” Tony trailed off. “After your DNA has been altered so much...” he said carefully, eyeing Peter for a reaction before carrying on. “I just don’t think it’s the best idea, and neither does anybody hear at the hospital, so I signed for temporary guardianship, and you’ll be living with me from now on. So there’s that.”

Peter nodded, not looking up from where he stared at the blanket, playing with the material between his fingers.

“Well, I won’t bore you any longer, is there some kind of movie that you really like? It might help you to take your mind off of everything.” Tony stood up and walked over to a pile of DVD cases, still wrapped in plastic as though they had just been purchased. “I didn’t know what you would like, so I got a little bit of everything.

Tony handed Peter a stack to shift through, until Peter felt his heart lift upon seeing his favorite movie of all time - Star Wars: A New Hope.

“I knew you had to be a bit of nerd,” Tony mused, standing up to insert the DVD.

They didn’t talk for the entire run of the movie, but Tony didn’t leave Peter’s side either, which Peter felt was enough.

 

Peter was signed out of the hospital the next day.

“Shouldn’t he be here a couple more days?” Tony questioned. When we brought him in a few days ago you insisted that he was in critical condition, and now he’s right as rain?”

Dr. Sullivan shrugged. “His tests came back clear of any infection, and his stats have been within a healthy range for over 24 hours now. He is completely fine to leave. Welcome to taking care of an enhanced.”

Tony tilted his head. “And how do you know so much about enhanced people?” 

“I have my sources. Have a good day Mr. Stark.”

And with that, Dr. Sullivan whisked out of the room with a flourish of her lab coat, and disappeared from Peter’s line of vision. Which was fine in Peter’s opinion,. Since his anxiety levels had been through the roof ever since she had stepped in the room.

Peter had begun to notice that when the medical professionals were around, he couldn’t seem to keep himself calm. His palms felt sweaty, and the rate of his breathing began to pick up. If they came too close to him without warning, or if they touched him, Peter would flinch, as though he was expecting to be hurt.

Peter himself found this ridiculous. He knew the doctors weren't there to hurt him, they were there to help him. He had never been afraid of doctors in his life, not before the cave.

He always felt better when Mr. Stark was around, however, though he couldn’t quite explain why. He made him feel safe, even though Peter knew that him even being around Tony made the man feel uncomfortable, at least at first. He guessed it had to do with the fact that Mr. Stark hadn’t ever had to deal with someone Peter’s age. Besides, now that they were free, there wasn’t much that they could talk about. They didn’t have a lot of common ground, at least not any that they knew about, and they didn’t have a common goal or a common enemy anymore. Their relationship had grown while they were in the cave, but to what extent?

To his credit, Tony always did seem to ease up after talking to Peter for a while, and eventually the two did find some common interests.

“Just you wait until we get to the house, kid.” Tony had told them on their ride to his Malibu home. Tony was driving, which Peter found somewhat surprising. “You’ll love the lab. It has so many fun toys. My bots are there, though they’re somewhat antiques at this point - those stupid pieces of scrap metal.”

“Why don’t you just get rid of them?” Peter asked.

Mr. Stark turned to him, with a frown on his face, which quickly melted into a smile. “I couldn’t do that! I love them too much. Just don’t tell them I said that.”

When they arrived at Tony's mansion, Peter was shocked at the sheet size of it. Growing up in New York City, Peter had seen some pretty big buildings. Correction. Some pretty _tall_ buildings. Peter didn't think that Mr. Stark's house was more than three stories, but it stretched across the shore of the Pacific almost endlessly. Peter could wrap his head around why anyone would need a house that was this big.

The inside of the house felt like a maze. After the walked in, Peter found it hard to keep his bearings. Once they moved away from the door, he couldn't tell which way was which, and he had the feeling that if Peter lost Mr. Stark in one of the winding corridors, he could be lost in the house forever.

When they finally reached a room that Peter recognized to be some sort of living room or sitting room, there was a woman with strawberry blonde hair wearing a white blouse and a gray pencil skirt, sitting on the couch, watching something on the television.

“... _allow me to introduce you to the new Stark Industries business plan!”_ The voice on the TV said, followed by the sound of something shattering. _“Look, that's a weapons company that doesn't make weapons!”_

The woman looked up, noticing them, and shut off the TV with a static _click_. “Welcome home, Mr. Stark.”

“Hello, Ms. Potts,” Tony said, stepping in front of Peter. “I'll be in my lab for the rest of the day, if you need me.”

“Alright, I'll be sure to come get you. Will that be all, Mr. Stark?”

“That'll be all Ms. Potts.”

Then Tony turned and motioned for Peter to follow him. They went downstairs, down a winding, circular staircase, until they reached the bottom floor, which left to a room behind a big, glass wall, with a glowing pin pad by the door. 

“I'll take you to see your room in a second, kid, I just thought I would show you the lab first.”

The door opened, and Tony held it open to let Peter in. He walked in and was greeted by an echoing voice.

“Unidentified personnel.” Said a voice seemingly coming from everywhere. Peter jumped at the unexpected noise, looking around for where it may have been coming from.

“Oh, calm down JARVIS,” Tony said, “He’s with me, and he’s going to be around here quite a bit. Log him as Peter...” Mr. Stark turned to look at him. “Parker right? I thought I saw that name of the guardianship forms.”

Peter nodded silently. Tony spent the next half hour showing Peter around the lab, introducing him to his robots, and showing him how to operate certain types of equipment. Mr. Stark rambled on and on, talking about everything under the sun, while Peter remained uncharacteristically quiet, thinking back to what he had heard in the living room.

“You’re a quiet thing today, aren’t you?” Tony remarked. “Haven’t spoken a word since we got to the house. Usually you’re talking a mile a minute.”

Peter turned to look at the man. He stayed silent.

“You got something on your mind?”

Peter took a deep breath. “What... What was Ms. Potts watching? When we came in?”

“One of those broadcasts or TV shows that advises people on where to invest their money.”

“It said you were a weapons company that doesn’t make weapons.”

Tony sighed. “That’s because as of a couple of days ago, Stark Industries announced - or rather, I announced, quite unexpectedly - that we were shutting down our weapons department.”

Peter blinked. “What made you decide to do that?”

“You did,” The mechanic sat down and began fiddling with some sort of circuit board. “You told me in the cave that weapons won’t just stop working when someone I don’t want to have them gets ahold of them. I realized then that I had become part of a broken system,” Tony looked up at him. “I don’t want to make weapons anymore. Stark Industries whole mission is to make the world a better, safer, and more peaceful place. Making weapons isn’t working. We can do better. I just need to figure out what I want to do.”

Peter smiled softly. “Do you have any ideas?”

“Well, I initially wanted to look more into ARC reactor technology,” He tapped on the glowing blue light under his shirt for emphasis. “But Obie shot that down, he’s still married to the idea that we’re only good for making weapons. Then I thought... maybe...” Tony eyed Peter carefully. “Maybe if I couldn’t control who had the guns... I could make sure they were in the rights hands...my own...”

The teen tilted his head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Tony pulled up a couple of displays, maneuvering things through the air on his holographic projections, before pulling up an image of a suit of armor. Peter looked at it for a few moments, before he began to recognize certain elements of it. His eyes widened in shock. Yes, Peter definitely recognized this. How could he not? He had helped _build_ this.

“I’m changing up the design a little, trying to change the form to increase the aerodynamics to help it to sustain prolonged flight - kinda similar to the way we’re shaping cars to be able to move faster. The original model was never meant to fly for very long, that’s why it ended up crashing so badly in the desert, I’m trying to figure out how to use less energy to achieve flight, because with our last model it was a bit overkill -”

“Hold on,” Peter cut him off. “You’re building another suit?”

“Well, I was hoping you could help me. You did so well the last time.”

“No, I mean,” Peter sighed, “You’re going to stop making weapons for your company, but you’re going to make an even bigger weapon for yourself.”

“It’s not like that, kid.” Tony got up from where he was sitting a moved to stand beside Peter. “It’s not a weapon. It’s a method of keeping the peace.”

“By having a bigger stick than the other guy?”

Tony paused. “Where did you hear that?”

“I read it in a magazine.”

“In the hospital?”

“I got bored.”

Mr. Stark turned to face him. “Listen, kid. This thing isn’t meant to be a weapon. Or, maybe it is, but I’m going to be the one in the suit. I’m going to make sure no one else gets their hands on this, and I’m only going to go after the people who hurt others. This suit isn’t going to have big guns or cause massive explosions like the first one did.”

Peter was struggling to understand. “So, you want to become a superhero?”

Tony blinked. “What? No.”

“You just said that you wanted to go after the bad guys and protect people.”

“What? Kid, that’s not - Well... I guess maybe it is. Sure, let’s go with that. I’m going to become a superhero.”

Peter smiled. “Well, in that case, I’m in.”

The billionaire chuckled and looked back at his designs for the new suit. “I should have known all I had to say to get you on board was something extremely dorky like ‘I’m going to become a superhero’”

“I just think that you made something that could really help people, or could really hurt people,” Peter explained. “My dad used to tell me about his brother, Ben. He died when my dad was in college, but he used to say ‘With great power comes great responsibility.’ It’s super cheesy, but I think it’s the truth. You have a lot of power, Mr. Stark, and you want to use it to help people. That’s something I can get behind.”

Tony smiled at the kid. “You know kid, you’re pretty wise for a thirteen-year-old.”

“Well, I’ve been through a lot.”

“Yeah kid. Too much.”

 

 

Later that day, Tony showed Peter his room. It was a bit of a blank slate. A guest room which hadn’t really been converted to become Peter’s room, but Mr. Stark said that he could decorate it however he wanted to.

Now, Peter was laying in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. The bed felt too soft, like he was laying on marshmallows. He supposed that was because He had gotten used to a beat down mattress on a wire frame, and even after that he had been stuck in a hospital bed, which was a huge improvement, but nowhere near the comfort levels Peter found in this bed.

Ever since waking up after their escape, Peter found it hard to sleep. Before, Peter had been on drugs virtually all the time. Sleeping wasn’t something he had done on his own for quite some time, he always just dozed off after receiving another dose.

His lack of sleep wasn’t the only thing that the drugs did to him. Walking around, and viewing the world was completely different now. Everything was so much more vibrant and vivid than Peter had ever remembered it being. The world was louder, and brighter, and more three-dimensional. 

It wasn’t as though Peter wanted the drugs, in fact it kind of surprised him that he didn’t find himself addicted to the substance because of how much he was forced to use it. He suspected the doctors had weaned him off of it while he was still unconscious. It was just that everything felt so different now. Like he was living in a dream. A happy dream that couldn’t possibly be his reality.

There was no way Peter could truly be free. No way he could have been taken in by the infamous Tony Stark. It just wasn't possible.

And yet, here he was. Free at last.

And at some point that night while he stared up at the ceiling, Peter had the most peaceful night of sleep in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on tumblr @fictionart24

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on Tumblr @fictionart24


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